Читать книгу Perfect Match - Dara Girard - Страница 11

Chapter 4

Amal halted in the doorway when he saw her. He noticed the surprise and amazement on her pretty face and nearly took a step back. He had to play it cool. He didn’t want anything to jeopardize her representing him. He had to remain in control even though he didn’t feel as if he was. Instead, he felt as if his world had tilted on its axis and that nothing would be the same again. His throat constricted, his mouth felt parched and his heart acted as if it wanted to beat out of his chest. He took a deep breath, glad he still knew how to breathe. He fought not to remember the scent of her perfume or notice how the color of her lime-green suit looked against her skin. He tried to ignore how the light revealed reddish highlights in her hair and how when she licked her lips he wanted to lick them, too. No, he had to focus on the case. That was all that mattered right now.

He held out his hand, pleased by how firm and steady it looked. Yes, he could do this. “It will be a pleasure to work with you.”

“Yes,” Hannah said in a rush. “Will you excuse me?” She darted out of the room, pushing past him on her exit, allowing him another whiff of her floral scent. He gripped his hands into fists.

Hector spun around, sending him an accusatory look. “What have you done?”

Amal took a seat, setting his briefcase down. “I haven’t done anything.”

“She looked at you as if she’d seen a ghost or something. Please don’t tell me she’s a former conquest you’ve forgotten about.”

“I never forget a woman.”

“It can happen.”

“Not to me. Besides, she’s never been one of mine. And will you stop calling them conquests?”

“I say it out of admiration.”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine,” Hector reluctantly conceded, “but something’s wrong, and I need to find out what. I don’t like surprises. They are never good.”

Amal tugged on his cuffs and grinned. “My little optimist.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“She’s the only one willing to help us. We can’t lose her.”

The thought made Amal’s stomach clench. Now that he’d found her again, he didn’t want to lose her, but he wouldn’t think about why. “We’re not going to,” Amal said with a confidence he didn’t feel.

* * *

Hannah locked herself in the bathroom stall, wanting to jump up and down and scream. She just kicked the door instead. He was here. The man she’d been dreaming about for many nights was here and was quickly becoming her worst nightmare. He wasn’t the caring, generous and wonderful man she’d imagined him to be. Instead, he was a conniving playboy who went through women as he did his shirts. He’d likely used one of his lines to get her attention that day in the park. She wondered how often he used that line. Obviously it was effective; she’d fallen for it—and him—completely. From Bonnie’s research she knew he never settled with one woman for too long, especially after breaking up with Jade Walker. She felt like a fool. She banged her head against the door, welcoming the pain in her head. It was better than the one seeping into her heart.

He’d probably laughed about how easy it had been to manipulate her. But she wouldn’t think about that. She needed the job. She didn’t need to like him. And he didn’t need to know how she’d felt about him. What he thought about her didn’t matter as long as she got paid. He’d probably forgotten all about it anyway. She’d be professional and distant.

She heard a knock on the door and then Bonnie’s worried tone. “Hannah? Are you all right?”

Hannah wiped her eyes and came out. “I’m fine.”

“Did he say something? Do you want me to be in on the meeting?”

“No, I can handle Mr. Harper.”

Hannah returned to her office and stared at Amal—seeing the steely jaw and cunning gaze. She hadn’t seen that before, but she wouldn’t forget it now.

“Okay, let’s get to work.”

They discussed the case and then finished for the day.

“Will you excuse us?” Amal said to Hector as they prepared to leave.

“Are you sure?” Hector said.

Amal sent him a cutting look. Hector hesitated and then left.

Once he’d closed the door, Amal leaned forward and softened his voice. “It’s nice to see you again, Hannah.”

“Is it?” she said, sounding bored.

“I think so.”

“So now you remember my name?”

“It suits you.”

“Stop playing games with me.”

“I’m not playing games.”

“You lied to me. In the park you said we’d met before, but when I just saw you, you were just as surprised to see me as I was to see you. Why is that? You knew my name and what I did, yet you were just as shocked when you saw me. That means you’ve never heard of or seen me before.”

He shrugged. “Okay, so I lied.”

Hannah blinked, amazed by how comfortable he was admitting it. “Why? You wanted to get my number or something? Or perhaps you were just bored that day and wanted to see if you could toy with me. I know all about you. I know how you think getting women in bed should be an Olympic sport.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“There’s no need to. Your actions speak loud enough.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

“Or everything you hear.” She folded her arms, wanting to look unmoved, although she was feeling so many emotions she could hardly keep still. “Why did you lie?”

“I wanted to make you stop crying.”

Hannah paused, hating how he was a constant surprise to her. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Did the contractor give you a good estimate?”

“No.”

“Oh. Look, a friend owes me a favor. I can get your parents’ house fixed so they’ll get insured.”

Hannah held up her hand and shook her head. “I don’t need your help. You’re the one who needs mine.”

Amal shrugged and leaned against her desk. “I don’t see why you’re so upset. It was a harmless diversion.” He continued before she could reply, “Did I try to get your number or address?”

“No.”

He folded his arms. “You’re lucky I didn’t have to resort to plan B.”

“Plan B?”

“Yes.” He came around the desk and lifted her to her feet. “I was going to kiss you.” And then he did just that. She expected to be repelled, alarmed, violated, but instead the touch of his lips on hers was like coming home. Like the sweet smell of cinnamon pancakes on a Sunday morning, or the sound of a crackling fire on a still winter’s night. He felt safe, secure, right. Although her body wanted to believe that, her mind refused to. He was all wrong for her—too many smooth lines and charming smiles.

Hannah shoved him away and wiped his kiss from her mouth. “If you ever do that again—” She stopped at the sight of the stunned expression on his face—wonder, amazement, confusion and a slight hint of fear. All that she’d felt. But she brushed the thought aside. They were nothing alike. She snapped her fingers in his face. “Did you hear me?”

He blinked as though waking from a trance. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I don’t know what has gotten into me.”

“Your ego is the size of a continent.”

“Relax.” He sat on the corner of her desk. “I’m not hitting on you. You’re not even my type.”

“Lucky me,” she said in a dry tone.

He cringed, looking uneasy, which seemed like an uncharacteristic trait for him. “I didn’t mean it like that. All I’m saying was that I was trying to help you and I would have done whatever it took to make you smile.”

“Fine,” Hannah said in clipped tones. “Let’s forget it.”

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“I need to know whether you trust me or not. I need you to believe in my case and fight for me.”

“I will.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

Hannah sat behind her desk and met his stare. “But that’s what I’m telling you.”

He sat and glared at her with an intensity that made a tinge of fear slither down her spine. He kept his voice measured and controlled. “The Walkers are good and they are going to paint a portrait of me that’s—” he hesitated “—less than savory. If you already believe them, there’s no point in you representing me. No, I’m not a saint. But I built my company with Jade and I did love her and I tried to be everything she wanted me to be, but it wasn’t enough. I didn’t callously abandon her, and I was not the reason she committed suicide. If you think that’s the kind of man I am then let’s end this partnership now.”

“I’ll take the case.”

“Wrong answer.” He stood.

“You need me.”

“Not that bad.”

Hannah jumped to her feet, seeing the answer to her parents’ problem walking out the door. “I can take your case without having to like you.”

“No, you can’t.” Amal grabbed the door handle.

She rushed over to him and stopped him from opening the door. “Okay, wait. I believe you.”

Amal gazed down at her with a blank expression, making it hard for her to read him. “About everything?” he challenged in the same measured tone. “And be careful how you answer.”

“Yes.”

“And you like me?”

“I’ll work on it.”

“I know you’re a lawyer, but you shouldn’t lie to me.”

“Lie?”

“Yes.” He opened the door then winked at her, making her heart skip a beat although she wanted to slap him. “I know you like me. You just have to get used to the idea.”

Hannah was too stunned to reply, and by the time she had a cutting retort, he and Hector were gone.

* * *

She needed the money. That’s all that mattered. Hannah tried to remind herself that saving her parents’ house was worth the risk of dealing with a playboy and going against a powerful family that could cost her her career.

“Isn’t this great?” Bonnie said, rushing up to her.

Hannah returned to her desk, masking her jumbled feelings. “What’s great?”

“This case. It’s exciting and you get to work with Amal Harper. If you win, you’ll never want for clients again.”

Hannah picked up a pen and waved it at her friend in warning. “The word being if.”

Bonnie frowned. “It’s not like you to be negative.”

“I know,” Hannah said, holding her head for a moment. She let her hands fall to the desk. “I’m just a little overwhelmed. I hope I haven’t taken on too much.”

“You haven’t.” Bonnie suddenly looked thoughtful. “You know, he’s better-looking than his photos.”

“And you mention that because...?”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Wouldn’t blame me for what?”

“If something’s going on.”

Hannah widened her eyes. “Nothing is. Why would you say that?”

“Just the way you were looking at each other.”

“We met briefly before, but trust me, it’s nothing.”

Bonnie sat and crossed her legs, swinging one foot. “No, it’s not.”

“He’s a client.”

Bonnie began to grin. “He won’t be a client forever.”

“I’m not his type and he’s not mine. End of story,” Hannah said, sending her friend a long, firm look that didn’t allow any contradictions.

“If you say so,” Bonnie said, clearly not believing her but wise enough to let the subject drop.

* * *

The moment Hannah got home she went into her bedroom, opened her diary and stared at the carefully preserved buttercup Amal had given her, wondering if she should tear it into pieces.

She slammed her diary shut and shoved it away from her as she sat on her bed. She wanted to rip it up, but she couldn’t because even though she knew the truth about the man, she couldn’t erase the memory of how he’d made her feel that day. She opened her diary again and gazed at the flower, lightly touching it with her finger. She’d keep it as a reminder as to why she needed to focus on work instead of men. Work she could always depend on and trust. Work didn’t let her down or disappoint her. She wouldn’t let herself get distracted by a man who’d made it an art of stealing women’s hearts. Not that she was in danger of that since she wasn’t his type anyway. You’re not my type. She wished his words made her more angry than upset, but they’d forced her to look at the mirror and face the truth of what he’d said.

From the pictures she’d seen of him at numerous parties and events, she knew he usually went for those classically beautiful African American ladies with long hair and tiny waists. Or Caucasian women with wide eyes and long legs. Delicate beauties who looked as if the slightest breeze would make them crumble. Not medium-height women with short black hair and West African features. She knew she was attractive, but no one would mistake her for an American with her exotic features—dark eyebrows and lashes, cupid-bow lips, a sleek, long neck and dark brown skin.

In school she didn’t look like the other kids, but her parents, uncles and aunts always showed her how beautiful she was and surrounded her with images of women like her. In travels she’d turned men’s heads while dining in Portugal and sailing in Barbados.

She put on a deep royal-red lipstick and her favorite pair of earrings and again stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was a beautiful woman and plenty of men thought so, and Amal was blind if he didn’t see it, whether she was his type or not. She blew herself a kiss. She was a great daughter and a caring friend, and she’d save her parents’ home and show Mr. Amal Harper the kind of top-notch lawyer she was.